


Hug You, Squeeze You

by simplifyingforces (vigorousplasmids)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Superman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Hugs, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigorousplasmids/pseuds/simplifyingforces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of brief winding encounters that lead to a Super!hug (and maybe some other stuff, too).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hug You, Squeeze You

The first time was angry.  A routine, yet pleasant, society interview with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises on his visit to Metropolis had led to unpleasant revelations thirty minutes later on the Watchtower.  After a couple stunned beats of silence, Batman had lunged at Superman, and fevered kissing had quickly escalated to gloves flying and elbows knocking and _take off your goddamned cape before I strangle you with it_. After ten frantic desperate minutes full of harsh breathing and flushed faces it's over, with five more minutes to slip out the closet door before the League meeting.  Batman had four half-moon marks on his left thigh for a week; Superman spent the next two reading a distressing amount about Bruce Wayne in the _Daily Planet_ archives.  
  
Three weeks to the day after that first time, Batman crept silently into Clark's studio apartment in the growing dawn, cape whispering on the carpeted floor.  Without explanation, he sank down onto the double bed, cowl ears poking into the soft pillow.  As Clark shifted to accommodate his form, he noticed the lenses were down and Bruce’s eyes refracted bright vulnerability in their bloodshot state.  Without preamble, Batman muttered a shame-filled _please_ and Clark rolled, his hulking weight an oven at his side.  Super speed and a warm hand, and the second encounter was over in under five minutes.  The only remnant was Batman's smile, fierce and manic as he swung out the window into the bright Metropolis night.  Clark was disappointed to see that the marks had gone.  
  
After that, Clark stopped counting, although he was certain Bruce hadn’t, partly because it was against his nature and partly because of the apprehensive flicker in his eyes every time they met.  Each subsequent encounter was fast and fighting almost daily, and only occurred during breaks on league time (which were, as mandated by Batman, a strict maximum of fifteen minutes).  Clark made the mistake of calling him Bruce once and went through a straight week in wanting.  He never tried to take off the mask.  
  
Six months on, Batman is back through the window, hands trembling and tongue quick.  He's out into the night before Clark can come down from the effects of either, giving him a stiff peck on the lips before he goes.  Clark doesn’t think about what it means because he’s still stuck on how much he enjoyed running his hands tenderly over the cowl, affection etched in fingertips circling over the spaces where Bruce’s ears would be.  He goes to sleep dreaming about slipping a thumb over and into Batman’s open panting mouth, running his fingers through uncowled hair, having time.  
  
Their next few encounters are still fevered, yet – for some reason Clark can’t decipher – less fraught.  Sometimes, when he’s alone in the dead of night, he thinks that it could be construed as loving.  After a month on this elevated plane of mutual satisfaction, Batman falls asleep on Superman's shoulder in the Javelin following a long mission and wakes up tense, his mouth a thin line of aggravation.  Clark pushes it open with his tongue and Bruce lets them spend a silent extra two minutes lying together after they're through.  He deliberately faces the other direction while Superman stares at the back of the cowl like it contains the answer.  
  
For the next couple weeks, Batman only meets Superman in dirty Gotham alleys with the cowl's lenses closed firmly over his eyes.  
  
It's another few months of relapsed charged encounters before Clark hears the tell-tale beat of Bruce's traitorous heart in his apartment.  He’d been caught in a state of half-wakefulness, convinced he was dreaming before noticing Batman slipping into the room.  Within seconds, he’s shimmering fully-suited down Clark's form under the sheets; he knows that Superman doesn't feel the rough edges and the catches of the suit on his chest like anyone else would.  Batman always believes he’s prepared for any situation, but Clark's never been intimidated by head games; it doesn't hurt that he's finally found the answer.  With a mighty heave he pulls Batman up and with a swift hand he pulls Batman away, and only Bruce's too-wide eyes are left to assess the damage.  
  
"Fuck you, Kent," he says angrily after the almost imperceptible moment when Batman forces his way onto Bruce Wayne's adorably honest face, gaze narrowing as he pushes down aggressively onto Clark's waiting body.  
  
"Yes," Clark replies, voice simple and soft.  
  
After a moment, they're bare and red and Bruce is lost in that headspace that only sex and brilliant minds provide.  He's got a rhythm and a smug grin under half-lidded eyes and Clark knows it's time.  
  
Carefully, he wraps his arms around him, letting them cross as they grasp around Bruce’s ribs, using his inhuman strength to slow him down.  He hugs Bruce flush against himself, his chin hooked over Bruce’s shoulder and legs tangled below.  
  
Bruce stiffens uncomfortably but is unable to prevent the strangled groan rising within his throat.  He gnaws his lower lip as he struggles in Clark’s grip, hair falling gracelessly over his eyes and arms awkwardly pillowing Clark’s head.  
  
"Superman -- let go," he gasps even as his hips jerk relentlessly against him.  "You’re too close," he puffs out as he writhes in his arms.  Clark is suffocating him, and this is now going to take much longer than ten minutes.  
  
"Yes," Clark replies calmly, and he hugs Bruce tighter, slows him down further.  His nerve endings are on fire, and Bruce won’t stop trying to push down more urgently into him despite his discomfort, blowing out air harshly into his left ear with each slow drag.  His arms clench tight around Clark’s neck as sweat gathers between them, causing a slick slide between their bodies.  He feels Bruce’s Adam’s apple working furiously against his cheek to contain the moans threatening to escape from deep within, and smiles.  
  
After a minute of riding the high of barely-contained _something_ , Clark reluctantly releases his hold, taking pity on Bruce’s vulnerable position.  He starts to slide his palms up and down his exposed back, feather light, before settling gently on the lower curve.  Bruce shudders once, surprisingly still flush against him and rocking in Clark's slow steady pace, before gasping, "Never happy with the status quo, are you?"  Clark responds with a tight squeeze and Bruce finally stops and lets out a soft chuckle.  
  
"Flip us," he says, amusedly resigned, and from this angle he's beautiful, dark hair fanned out beneath him and a hint of five o’clock shadow forming along his jaw.  He's stares opaquely as Clark props himself up on strong arms, bracketing Bruce between them.  As Clark leans close and lets his hair tickle Bruce's nose, he sees his eyes slide closed and feels calloused fingertips hesitantly brush his sides before grasping gently.  He smiles as he leans close, brushes a kiss.  
  
"Kal-El," Bruce sighs, as his fingers twitch and dig firmly into his hips.  He repeats the name in shouts, in whispers, in prayers.  
  
Lifetimes and hours later, as they lay precariously wrapped around each other on the narrow bed, Bruce's body is both hopeful and wary.  "Kal-El," he says one final time, voice rough and wondrous with his face buried in the crook of Clark's neck, hair gently brushing against his chin as the fan whirrs softly overhead.  
  
"Mr. Wayne," Clark replies, throatily deep and embarrassingly happy, "it's truly a pleasure."

**Author's Note:**

> Well...kind of nervous about this one. I have never written anything even close to appearing smutty, so please let me know if anything seems off...including the rating :P. I actually got the idea for this from a satirical Thought Catalog article called [How to Be Good in Bed](http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/how-to-be-good-in-bed/) and thought that one of the points actually _is_ nice to have in bed, if not expressed in quite the same way, and so this fic was born. I think I'm also getting tired of the build-up in [A Regularly Scheduled Flight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/562683)...
> 
> The title is a song title from Stevie Ray Vaughn. You can listen [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gK3tLuGyVR8), if you're interested.


End file.
